


I Recall A Face

by adamantiteyrie



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 13:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13342569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamantiteyrie/pseuds/adamantiteyrie
Summary: Prompto is cursed during a hunt gone wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

Prompto’s mother had never told him about witches. 

Of course, Prompto’s mother was dead, and there were a great many things she would never tell him now. Like just how long the open road could be, or how tired you could feel at the end of another day spent travelling, the horizon unreachable. Mostly, though, he really wished she’d told him about the witches. In particular, the witch who laid her hands upon him and murmured a curse that sank heavy into his bones even as Ignis brought the flat of his lance down square on her head.

Breathless, Prompto had scrambled backwards, numb to the pain of the brambles tangling in his shirt and skin, wanting only to put distance between himself and the woman who had, at some point, been the hunting party’s prey. Now she was a fury, an adversary untameable, and the whole venture seemed thoroughly unwise. The lure of Gil offered for dispatching The DreadWitche Morag seemed now as much a trap as the vines Gladio was still hacking from Noct’s chest and legs.

Prompto never found out why he, of the four of them, displeased her enough to merit a curse. The retreat they beat was hasty, pride swallowed in favor of the bitter taste of wisdom: this was a fight they could not win. Even as he followed after Gladio’s heavy footfalls through the forest, the Prince curled in his Shield’s arms, legs shredded and bloodied, he did not think to wonder. All he could do was run.

The fear that cloaked their campsite was oppressive and inescapable. While Ignis and Gladio both hurried to Noct’s aid, applying salves and cracking open potion bottles to empty their contents down his throat, Prompto kept watch, as though his eyes could foresee anything the Oracle’s Blessing could not. Neither of the others invited him back to the tent for rest after Noct’s wounds were treated; no one spoke to him at all. Exhausted, and haunted by the keen eyes and chanting voice of the DreadWitche, Prompto barely noticed. He drifted off to sleep out on the cold stone, the Blessing humming quietly in the runes beneath him.

It was only the following day that he realised something was wrong.

‘Morning,’ he greeted Ignis, as the older man, somehow now immaculate and unblemished from the previous’s night’s skirmish, peeled back the tent flap and stepped outside to soak in the dawning sun. Ignis set about preparing breakfast without so much as a perfunctory nod in Prompto’s direction.

‘Is Noct okay?’ Prompto asked, worry creeping into his voice. Perhaps Ignis was caught up in his own concerns about the Prince’s wellbeing. If that was so, he was not sharing them with Prompto. 

‘... Iggy?’ Prompto approached him, waving a hand in front of Ignis’s face. 

Ignis did not so much as blink, and continued his preparations uninterrupted.

Prompto’s attempts to draw Ignis’s attention didn’t lack for variety. He clapped his hands next to his ear, he shouted, he snapped his fingers, he jumped around waving his arms, he spouted a few profanities about Ignis’s mother which Prompto knew he wouldn’t let go, and still nothing. It was as though Prompto did not exist at all. This fear was confirmed when, in desperation, Prompto reached out to grab Ignis by the wrist, and felt nothing as his fingers slipped through the flesh and bone as if it were air.

‘No,’ said Prompto then, clawing at his hair in panic, ‘no, no, no!’

It was at that moment that Ignis turned, and looked straight at him. His eyes widened a little, pupils dilating in surprise, brows hitched and mouth open in a small “oh”, as if he had suddenly remembered the location of a beloved treasure thought lost. ‘Ah, yes, Prompto, there you are,’ he said, Prompto’s name a little thick and unfamiliar in his mouth, ‘help me with these plates, would you?’

Prompto gaped at him. ‘You, you see me? You can hear me?’

‘Of course I can,’ the furrow in Ignis’s brow deepened, suspecting some joke on Prompto’s part, ‘where have you been?’

‘Right here! Right in front of you! This whole time!’

Ignis looked more puzzled still, and then he turned away. As he did so, his perplexed expression softened, his shoulders untensed, and he went about carrying the plates over to the tent without Prompto’s assistance, and without chastising Prompto for idleness.

‘... Ignis?’ Prompto hated that his voice was now more whimper than whisper.

Nothing. Ignis slipped inside the tent, rousing the others from their sleep with breakfast. 

It was then that Prompto realised Ignis had only prepared three plates.


	2. Chapter 2

‘Never heard of a DreadWitche before,’ said Gladio as he surveyed the flyer with dubious scowl, ‘funny spelling, ain’t it?’

‘Probably for effect,’ said Ignis dismissively, doing up the buttons on his gloves, ‘much like adding an “e” to the end of the word “Old” to make a tavern seem more fanciful.’

‘Ye Old _e_ DreadWitch _e_ ,’ said Noct, overemphasizing each syllable and taking the flyer back from Gladio without asking for it. ‘So, a little old lady in the woods, right? Nothing we couldn’t handle.’

‘The price on her head would suggest many have tried to handle her, and have failed,’ said Ignis, ‘though I can’t say for certain what she is. It’s entirely possible she’s just a hermit who doesn’t want to be disturbed.’ He paused before sipping at his coffee, as if contemplating such a life for a fleeting moment, and being sorely tempted by the idea.

‘Yeah, I mean. It’s not like witches are real,’ said Prompto, chewing his way through a bacon roll, grease sliding over his fingers and dripping onto his napkin. ‘Probably demonified, or something.’

‘Demonified,’ Ignis repeated, dryly. Ignis was long in the habit of echoing, in deadpan tones, Prompto’s more unusual word choices. Occasionally, he did the same to Noct, but it was liable to make the Prince sulk. 

It didn’t bother Prompto. He swallowed his mouthful and took another, speaking between chews, ‘Yeah, like. Turned into a demon. The opposite of sanctified.’

‘So you know the word sanctified?’ Gladio sounded disbelieving, and Prompto tried to kick him under the table. He succeeded only in stubbing his toe on the chair leg opposite.

It had been a morning like any other. There was nothing to suggest their day would end in terror and blood, nothing to suggest that Prompto would be torn from their memories like an unwanted stitch from a tapestry. He and Noct played King’s Knight, Ignis drank his coffee, Gladio read his book and called his sister. 

It was exactly like the string of days that had come before; they were in the strange limbo of Lucis, a land now without a king. A land where witches were apparently taking root, making themselves known.

‘Sun’s low in the sky for the season,’ Prompto heard Gladio say to Ignis, who hummed his disapproving agreement without further comment.

* * *

‘I’m right _here_.’

Prompto’s attempts to slow down the dismantling of the camp were proving in vain. Going so far as to grab items from his friend’s hands – it seemed he could still touch inanimate objects, if not other people - somehow they managed to mentally obfuscate the anomalies, attributing them to clumsiness, or a lack of attention. When it came to Prompto’s own belongings, he had hoped they might jog someone’s memory, but Noct scooped up Prompto’s camera and sleeping bag with an oddly glazed expression, indifferent.

‘Be careful with- you know what, just give it here,’ Prompto snatched the camera from beneath Noct’s arm, and the other man scarcely acknowledged its absence. 

With each minute that passed, Prompto was growing more frantic. His fingers were trembling as he switched his camera on, panning through the photos he’d taken over the last few days. For the ones he was in, he was still there. Smiling, happy, for the most part. A selfie in the car here, a group picture there. His own face beamed back at him. So the camera, at least, remembered. He sighed, relieved at the small respite, but that coincided with the sound of the Regalia’s engine being fired. 

‘Wait! Wait wait wait!’ He bolted down the hillside and vaulted over the passenger-side door into his usual seat, which had been left empty, the habit apparently still ingrained in the others. Panting, he turned to look at Ignis, whose eyes were on the road. ‘Come on! Come on, you saw me before! Look! Look at me!’

Instead, Ignis turned to look at Noct. ‘Noct, why don’t you come and sit in the front? It would be good to have a second pair of eyes on the road.’

‘But I sit here!’ Prompto protested, ‘I’m your second pair of eyes! Me!’

It was more that Ignis looked over at the seat than at Prompto himself, but it was enough. Again, that look of surprise, the slight shaking of the head as he registered Prompto's presence. ‘Oh, Prompto, my apologies. Of course you’re sitting there.’

‘Yeah,’ Noct agreed, sounding equally confused, ‘why did you want us to switch?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Ignis, ‘I thought the seat was empty.’

‘But he always sits there,’ said Gladio, as though it were obvious, which it was.

‘You can see me again?’ Prompto groaned with relief. ‘Okay, guys, something really strange happened, you all forgot-’

But Ignis had looked away, and while he’d dropped the issue of Noct moving into the front passenger seat, it was clear he was no longer listening to Prompto. Prompto turned to Gladio and Noct in succession, and neither of them paid him any heed either. Noct was already napping and Gladio was watching the scenery roll by. Back to square one.

‘Look at me,’ Prompto found himself silently pleading as they drove off, ‘just look... look at me... please...’

But none of them did.


	3. Chapter 3

They’d been on the road a good few minutes before Prompto realised he had no idea where they were going – and no way of asking, either. The others must have agreed their course in the tent while he was outside, and now all he could do was sit and wait, quietly hoping that someone might look his way and know he was there, even if it was only for a few seconds.

He returned again to his camera, reassured by his presence in the pictures he’d taken just yesterday. He knew he was here, and that he’d been here the whole time. It was scant comfort when not one of his friends seemed to know it too, but he’d take what he could. Being invisible, being unknown... it wasn’t like it was something he hadn’t felt before. The fact a witch was involved was new, of course. He didn’t quite know how to deal with that part.

Beneath his cropped trousers, Noct’s legs were still looking pretty gnarly – pitted scars, the sort that an elixir should have cleared right up, wove their way around his calves where the vines had gripped hardest. Ignis kept glancing up to watch Noct in the rear-view mirror, more often than usual. Everyone was anxious, Prompto realised then, having previously been too caught up in his own distress. They’d suffered a defeat on a hunt yesterday, and that wasn’t something any of them were used to.

They pulled up to the Meldacio HQ just before noon. The weather had turned on them by then, torrents of rain forcing Ignis to put up the Regalia’s hood. Prompto tracked racing droplets down the window to pass the time. It was so boring, having no one to talk to, even though everyone was right there. The others weren’t saying much to each other, either. It was a somber mood all round.

Ignis had parked up and was gathering his things when he noticed Prompto again. ‘Oh, P... Prompto, would you-’

Prompto practically jumped in his seat, so unexpected was the acknowledgement. ‘Ig- Iggy, don’t look away from me!’

‘... why not?’ Ignis looked bewildered, and Gladio and Noct were equally bemused. ‘Is something the matter?’

‘Seriously the matter!’ said Prompto, frantic, clambering forward into Ignis’s space, ‘that DreadWitche, she did something, okay, and now if you’re ever not looking-’

‘Do we have any Smelling Salts? It seems...’ and Ignis tailed off, now looking at Gladio and Noct in the back of the car as he requested the cure for confusion. ‘... I’m not sure why I asked that. My apologies, gentlemen.’

Prompto yelled in frustration, bringing his clenched fists down on the dashboard of the Regalia. How many times was this going to happen? How many times could it be dangled in front of him and then snatched away? He had to find a way to force them to keep looking once they’d seen him. He couldn't make them notice, but there had to be a way to keep their eyes on him once they'd found their way there.

Dejected, he followed behind the others as they all got out and approached the makeshift café at the HQ. He slammed the Regalia’s door extra hard, and Noct looked around with an annoyed scowl, but didn’t notice Prompto. 

It seemed the plan had been to find Dave, who was sat in the cafe reading over a couple of flyers. He didn’t notice their approach at first, but Gladio got his attention by rapping his knuckles on the table. ‘We need to talk.’

Dave looked up, not so much as flinching at the sudden noise or the thunderous expression on Gladio’s face. In fact, he was visibly relieved when he saw who it was. ‘Can’t say how glad I am to see you all in one piece, boys. I only found out this morning-’

‘That we went running into a death trap?’ Gladio was nearly snarling, and only Ignis’s calm hand on his shoulder made him cool his heels a little. ‘Ten, twenty hunters couldn’t have brought down that thing!’

‘What she lacked in stature,’ Ignis elaborated, ‘she more than made up for in magical aptitude. The forest she lived in bent to her will. A formidable enemy indeed.’

‘So that’s what she does,’ said Dave, musing on the new information, ‘I’ll be damned.’

‘You didn’t know?’ Noct asked, voice unusually sharp. 

‘No. All I know is that anyone who _did_ come back from hunting her – and they weren’t all that many, compared to the numbers that done went in – anyone that did, they came back... different. It’s bad news, boys, and I wouldn’t have let you have any part of it if I’d known. These damn flyers... I take ‘em down, but people put them up again. They want her gone.’

‘Different?’ it was Ignis’s turn to sound sharp now, and the three of them took the remaining seats around Dave’s table, leaving Prompto standing by himself, ‘how do you mean, different?’

‘We’re all the same as we were before,’ said Gladio, ‘‘cept Noct has about a dozen new scars on his legs.’

Dave tilted his head to take a look, and whistled low. ‘Nasty. But you can still walk. Blessing to be counted, if you ask me. You all seem well enough. Surface-wise, at least.’

‘I much prefer it when you’re straightforward with us,’ said Ignis, unimpressed. ‘Stop hedging around the issue, and tell us what happened to the others who got away with their lives.’

As they all leaned in, Dave sighed, tapping his fingers in a rhythm on the tabletop. ‘It’s hard to explain. When I say different... it’s different each time, too. One came back and seemed fine, but then a couple days later walked right into the middle of the Slough. Another couple came back talking like they knew what they were saying, but it all came out nonsense. One fella, he could never find his wife. We all saw her, all the time, she was a good hunter. But whenever he appeared, they just couldn’t cross paths. Like two magnets facing the wrong way.’

They all listened in concerned silence. ‘So something’s happened to us too,’ said Noct eventually.

‘Most likely. Hard to say what. You sound sensible enough. Not missing anything, are you? Anyone?’

They all shook their heads, but hesitantly, and while exchanging uncertain glances.

‘What?’ Dave pressed them, ‘What is it?’

‘... I recall a face...’ Ignis said quietly, but he drifted off and shook his head again.

Dave looked between the three of them, not once looking over at Prompto. It hadn’t occurred to Prompto to hope that someone outside of their group might see him, but it seemed unlikely. He was the one the DreadWitche had laid her hands on, after all. 

‘A face? Might be nothing. Might be something. Don’t go too far for a couple days. Rest up, be among friends. You never know what you’re dealing with when it comes to that damn witch until it’s too late.’

‘No shit,’ Prompto scoffed, as the others continued to look between themselves, worried, and none the wiser as to why.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t that Prompto wasn’t used to feeling lonely. He’d spent his childhood relatively isolated, and while in high school he had racked up a couple of internal suspensions (uniform infractions, of course) that had him crawling the walls and chewing through his pens with boredom. But this was different. This was loneliness like he’d never experienced it before. It was absolute, unforgiving, and relentless.

Three days had now passed since that night in the forest, and Prompto felt no closer to figuring out how he was going to get out of this mess. Worse still, the others, having rested for two days and felt no further ill effects from their encounter – save a quiet sense of unease – were packing up, ready to move on. Without him.

‘Noct,’ Ignis counselled, ‘we needn’t be hasty, if we aren’t certain.’

‘Every day we sit in one place, we risk bringing a swarm of MTs down on everyone else here,’ Noct said, and his advisor didn’t correct him. ‘The Dreadwitche didn’t hurt us. We’re all fine. It’s time to move on.’ He was unusually curt. They'd all been sleeping badly - though none of them as badly as Prompto, who woke up every hour or so to make sure they hadn't up and left in the night, unaware they would be leaving him behind.

‘Very well. I’ll see to our supplies.’

Prompto couldn’t help but get the feeling Ignis was stalling. Of the three of them, he had been the only one to look at Prompto since they’d left the forest, and whether or not he could remember anything about it, it certainly seemed to leave some faint impression. Prompto had never known Ignis to drag his heels over if’s and but’s, but he seemed to be quietly resisting Noct’s orders, though he didn’t go so far as to disobey them.

Prompto knew what he was going to do next, but he had to wait for the opportunity to arise of its own accord. Over the last two days at the Hunter's HQ, he hadn’t succeeded in gaining Ignis’s attention, save for a glance reflected in a mirror. That encounter had simply made Ignis whirl around, staring dumbly at some point over Prompto’s shoulder, looking like he’d seen a ghost. Maybe that’s what Prompto was, now. Just a ghost. It sure felt like it.

Except, not quite. While he couldn’t touch the others, he could touch material objects – even if his moving them around was ignored or explained away. He’d procured himself a pen, and paper, and set about writing a very urgent missive. He’d scrapped a few attempts – who knew it took so many words to explain that a Dreadwitche had cursed you halfway out of existence? – but finally he’d distilled the essence of his message into four short sentences. He didn’t want to risk bogging it down, not until he knew this would work. Leaving the note lying around waiting to be discovered hadn’t.

His opportunity came when Ignis was filling up the Regalia’s petrol tank. Usually a task Noct took up, Ignis had deigned to do it himself, taking about ten minutes longer than the Prince ever did, looking around furtively all the while.

_He knows I’m here_ Prompto told himself, standing just inches away, waiting, hoping, _He knows._

It happened. Just as Ignis was slotting the pump’s nozzle back into place, he looked at Prompto, and blinked. ‘How long have you been there?’

‘Iggy! No, okay, no time to talk, take this,’ and Prompto thrust the piece of paper he had folded in his hands towards Ignis, praying it would work, that it wouldn’t just go through Ignis’s fingers.

Perhaps more with instinct than intent, Ignis took the note, and it remained corporeal in his hand. He looked away from Prompto to read it, but Prompto was already holding his breath, waiting to see if it could be read at all.

When Ignis read things, he frowned. His brows would knit together in a tight crease, and his eyes would move unusually slowly across the pages, absorbing every detail, leaving nothing behind. That was the expression Prompto watched now as Ignis read, re-read, and re-re-read the note that had been handed to him. It was clear he had no idea how the paper had come to be in his possession, but Prompto was far more excited about the fact that Ignis could see the words written on it.

‘Noct? Gladio!’ Ignis turned, looking for his companions, beckoning them over. ‘I fear we may have a problem,’ he said as they both approached, looking equally impatient – Gladio was as eager to get on the road as Noct was, bored of sitting around doing nothing.

‘What’s that?’ Gladio asked.

‘What’s _that?_ ’ Noct asked, pointing at the note in Ignis’s hand. 

‘I think it’s a warning,’ said Ignis, ‘it appeared in my hand, just now.’

‘Appeared? As in, out of thin air?’ Noct sounded dubious, and his impatience was clearly mounting.

‘It would seem so, but I have a feeling the author was the one who gave it to me.’ Ignis turned the note around to show it to them both. They leaned in to look.

The note, in an untidy but bold hand, read:

I AM PROMPTO ARGENTUM. 

THE DREADWITCHE CURSED ME. 

I AM YOUR FRIEND. 

PLEASE HELP.


	5. Chapter 5

Ignis couldn’t sleep. 

The caravan was cramped, and the cots inside it – Ignis wasn’t going to grant them the dignity of being called “beds”, not while his back hurt the way it did – were hard and uncomfortable. Ignis wasn’t a fussy man, and he wasn’t one given over to complaining, but he did tend toward impatience, being young and all too often a witness to injustice. That was what kept him awake now: the injustice that Gladio and Noct were not willing to listen to him about Prompto Argentum. 

They were also not willing to leaving him behind, and so the three remained at the hunters’ headquarters, though it was on cold terms. Ignis was used to Noct being a grouch with him – it was Ignis who got him up in the mornings, Ignis who chided him to do chores, Ignis who did all the things that make a child resent their mother. But Gladio’s open disdain for the note Ignis showed them the day prior? That had stung. Ignis had always thought he and Gladio had a healthy respect and high regard for one another; to be so openly mocked hurt. 

Not that Ignis was wasting time on hurt feelings. He had a deadline, imposed by Noct: one day to find the source of the strange note, and after that they’d be leaving for Caem. Time then, to set his reasoning abilities to the test, and what a better time to do it that in the middle of the night, when he ought to be resting? 

The facts, as Ignis knew them, were these. 

He, Noct and Gladio had entered a forest to pursue the Dreadwitche, hoping to claim a sizeable bounty in the process. 

He, Noct and Gladio had been defeated and fell back to the nearest campsite, where Noct’s injuries were tended to. 

Upon arriving at the Meldacio HQ, Dave had informed them that no one escaped the Dreadwitche unmolested: though they were all alive, some misfortune had, or would soon have, befallen them. All of them, understandably, had felt very uncomfortable about that. 

Where then, in this narrative, did the note from the self-proclaimed “Prompto Argentum” fit in? He claimed to be a friend of theirs, under a curse from that same Dreadwitche. Had he followed them out of the forest, a specter latching on to them as they fled? Or did he haunt the headquarters, and just so happened to encounter the group there? Ignis disliked attributing something as solid as a handwritten note to a ghost, of all things, but when demons walked the earth you could never be sure of what might or might not be real. 

‘Who _are_ you?’ he found himself asking the caravan, answered only by the snores of Gladio on the next cot along. 

If he had known to look, he would have seen Prompto sitting on the cot opposite, with his knees drawn to his chest. He could have asked all these questions of Prompto directly, instead of endlessly speculating, trying to complete a puzzle with only a single tangible piece to it. 

‘Come on, Ignis,’ Prompto whispered urgently, eyes wide and bright, reflecting the lamplight from outside, ‘I know you can figure it out. I was with you all from the start, you know it. You know me.’ 

Ignis sat up. It made Prompto jump, and then dare to hope- but Ignis was just pulling on a jacket over his pajama top, then a pair of shoes, and finally his glasses. His restlessness, it seemed, had finally bested him: he was heading out for a walk. 

Prompto followed without hesitation. The others barely stirred. 

Darkness never quite reached the Meldacio HQ. Prompto had never seen a place with so many back up generators, save perhaps Lestallum. Without the Oracle's touch on the ground, the light was the only way to keep demons at bay. They'd been encroaching on both ends of the tunnel, Prompto knew; bolder, larger, as the days grew shorter and dimmer. He shuddered to think what would happen if, by some terrifying stroke of misfortune, every last light at the headquarters went out. Even with the dense population of hunters here, there would be no stopping the slaughter. 

'Cheerful, Prompto,' he mumbled to himself as he walked after Ignis, both men's shadows thrown in varying lengths upon the tarmac by the lamps, 'real cheerful. Keeping those spirits up super good.' 

Talking to himself wasn't a great sign, he knew, but it felt like a small bastion of sanity. As long as he talked to himself, he knew he was still there. 

Ignis stopped so suddenly Prompto nearly walked in to him. He stood silent for a few moments, listening closely to Prompto knew not what, and then turned around. '… Prompto.' 

Prompto could have cried. Instead, he near shrieked, 'Ig! Don't look away! Please, just, keep looking at me!' 

'All right,' said Ignis evenly, not so much as glancing aside, though immediately the strain of keeping his eyes locked onto one location played out across his face – they wanted to wander, and it was a concentrated effort not to let them. 'Yes, of course. Here you are.' 

'Here I am,' Prompto nodded, throat closing up a little. He'd never wanted to hug Ignis more – and hugging Ignis wasn't usually on his agenda. 'How did you know I was behind you?' 

'I didn't. But I had a feeling you'd... be nearby, I suppose. If your note was to be believed.' Ignis sniffed a little. 'You could have afforded us a little more detail, you know. Though your flair for the dramatic is greatly in character.' 

'I didn't know if it would work,' said Prompto, 'or if it might only work for a few seconds, or... I don't know how any of this works. Except sometimes you can see me, and then everyone remembers.' 

'The Dreadwitche,' Ignis nodded, 'she's cursed you from our memories.' 

'Everyone's. Dave and the others can't see me either. Dave's _dog_ can't see me.' 

Ignis considered Prompto with great seriousness. 'And once I turn away from you, this conversation will be gone from my memory too. Quite the frustrating predicament.' 

'Predicament?' Prompto's jaw dropped. 'I'm going through hell, Ignis! It's so, it's lonely. And Noct doesn't even believe you about me being here. He's my best friend, and he doesn't-' 

Ignis held up a hand. 'But I do. I'm sure there are reasons for Noct's doubts and my contrasting confidence in you. But we won't find the answers here. We need help.' 

It took Prompto a few moments to realise what Ignis was suggesting. 'The Dreadwitche? You want us to _go back_ to the Dreadwitche?' 

'And beg her pardon,' said Ignis, 'I'm afraid Noct's magic falls far short of hers. We can't simply dispel you, even if we could remember we needed to. I fear asking for her assistance will be our only avenue. I can certainly think of no other. Now, I suspect my resolve to return will remain even when I look away from you, even if I can't remember why. Will you go with us? Or me,' he said, after a brief pause, 'if the others refuse.' 

Prompto nodded. 'Of course. I... wait. Take this. If I hand it over, maybe you'll be able to look at it again.' Without breaking eye contact – which, with Ignis, was as intense an experience as he could ask for – Prompto handed over his camera. 

He hadn't used it at all since the forest. It felt wrong to take photos while the others didn't know he was there. Candids were all well and good, but Prompto wasn't exactly a paparazzo. 

'Ah, yes,' Ignis recognised the camera by touch, still not looking away, 'photographic evidence. That may well sway the others. I'll take good care of it for you, I promise.' 

Prompto found himself laughing – a little hysterically. He never thought he wouldn't care about his camera, but right now he'd exchange every photo he'd ever taken for this to be over. 'Thanks, Ig.' 

'Hang in there,' said Ignis. 'We'll get this sorted out. I'm going to look away now.' 

'Okay,' said Prompto, the laughter dying in his throat as quickly as it had come, 'okay. I'll be with you the whole way. Thank you. For believing in me.' 

A genial nod. 'Indeed.' Perhaps that had been a bit too sentimental for him. 

Ignis looked away. He looked confused. Then he looked down at the camera in his hands, and switched it on.


	6. Chapter 6

Gladio was not easily embarrassed. 

Some might have called him arrogant for it, but the truth was that Gladio simply processed that particular set of emotions differently. Where others usually felt humiliation, he contended instead with the weight of dishonor, and shame. Amicitias, particularly those tasked with being the King's Shield, had these values drilled into them from birth. So when he was presented, by Ignis, with a camera filled with photographs of what could only be their group accompanied by one Prompto Argentum, it marked the gravity of the occasion that the heat of embarrassment rose in his cheeks. 

This was because Gladio had not only doubted the veracity of Ignis's claim when it was first raised: a combination of boredom and frustration at their lack of activity for nearly three days had let him to actively mock the other man's ideas.

'You really got us chasing ghosts now? You? I thought you knew better, Ignis,' he'd said, and then he'd laughed, 'or hey, maybe the Dreadwitche messed up your head!'

When Ignis didn't join him in his laughter, and instead walked away, stony faced, Gladio had dismissed him as being overly sensitive. The malaise of the last couple days was making Ignis act strange, he decided. He wasn't in the wrong. Ignis needed to get a grip. So seeing those photographs, being proven not only wrong but rude into the bargain, successfully embarrassed him.

‘I owe you an apology,’ was the first thing he said, once he’d reacquainted himself with his own tongue. ‘Yesterday, I...’ 

‘You were an ass,’ said Ignis, his gaze uncompromising and tone clipped, ‘but no matter. We have a far more pressing issue at hand. This man, he’s clearly our friend from the note. This man is Prompto Argentum, and we have no idea who he is aside from that.’ 

‘So what now?’ Noct asked, mood dour. He, too, was suitably ashamed of his disregard for Ignis’s concerns the day prior, but lacked the social grace to say so outright.

‘I have the strangest conviction,’ said Ignis, and Gladio groaned in anticipation of what was coming, but was ignored, ‘that we need to return to the forest and confront the Dreadwitche Morag.’ 

‘Because it went so well last time,’ said Noct, gesturing down to his legs; the scarring had not alleviated any, and it seemed now he was a man marked for life. ‘She’ll attack us on sight. She knows our faces, she knows we tried to kill her.’ 

‘Yes, and no doubt she remembers I hit her rather hard on the head,’ said Ignis, ‘but she is the only one who can explain, and potentially undo, whatever has been done to this poor boy who travelled with us before.’ 

‘So where did the camera come from?’ Gladio asked, having no alternative suggestion to make to Ignis's plan.

‘It appeared in my hands, much like the note. I suspect he handed it directly to me, and that I would never have been able to see it otherwise. I fear any belongings of his that we carry with us are slipping beneath our notice, so we will have to make do without any further clues.’ 

‘How’d you figure that?’ Noct asked. ‘How can you know we have his stuff if we can’t even tell it’s there?’ 

‘It simply follows,’ said Ignis, somewhat infuriatingly. He seemed less willing now to explain to them the process of his deductions. It did not do well to laugh at Ignis Scientia, and now he was punishing them for it. 

‘Well,’ said Gladio, breaking the terse silence that subsequently descended, ‘we’d best pack up and make tracks. We can get to the haven nearest the forest before sunset if we leave before ten.’ 

Prompto watched this exchange with mounting relief. For once he was witness to a conversation that didn’t make him want to shout at them all. They were taking action, they were moving in the right direction, and they all believed he was real. They were going to save him. 

‘I’m real,’ he said to himself, aloud, with conviction, over and over again, ‘I’m real, I’m real, I’m real.’

* * *

'So, who do we reckon this guy is?' 

The journey thus far had been unusually quiet, a tension now broken by Noct's question. They'd been travelling for just over an hour in near silence, Ignis concentrating on the road, Noct looking pointedly out at the scenery that rolled by. Lucis was a beautiful place, but it still felt alien to all of them. It seemed impossible that Noct could be king of a land he barely even knew - though of course, Lucian forces had been pushed back as far as Ostium Gorge even before Insomnia was annexed, so the land was his only if he seized it back again. They hadn't talked about any of that - whether or not Lucis wanted its King back, whether they'd recognise Noct in the role at all after Regis had fallen to the Empire's sword. So many questions, and none of them answered by the grazing garula they drove past.

The question, then, was a welcome distraction. 'How do you mean?' Ignis asked, glancing at Noct in the rear view mirror. 

'Well, if the photos are anything to go by, he's part of the retinue, right? He must be one of my retainers, like you guys. Why else would he be on this trip with us?' 

'Maybe he's your boyfriend,' Gladio teased, and Noct rolled his eyes.

'Nothing wrong with that, if it is the case,' Ignis mused, 'Noct wouldn't be the first monarch to conduct such business. It would be a bit strange to bring your secret partner to your arranged wedding ceremony, however.' 

Prompto could feel his ears burning. It was strange, now, to have them talking about him, acknowledging his existence, but not remembering anything about who he was. How much of a story could his photos tell? Not all of it, that was for sure. 

'He seems fun,' said Gladio, 'real smiley guy. He looks real happy to be around, don't he?' 

'Maybe he's my therapist,' said Noct, his tone sarcastic. 

'Or your friend,' Ignis suggested, 'perhaps you intended him to be your best man at the wedding.' 

Prompto made a soft squeaking sound. That particular matter had never actually been raised. Of course he was going to attend Noct's wedding, that was always on the cards, but Noct had never approached him about any sort of official position. Weren't best men supposed to give speeches? And throw stag parties? For a few moments this prospect both delighted and terrified Prompto in such a measure that he forgot the more pressing issue at hand. 

He was sitting in his usual seat at the front of the Regalia, watching the road slip away beneath the car's wheels with growing anxiety. They had no way of knowing if the Dreadwitche would be willing to help them, or if she could at all. There was every chance the curse couldn't be reversed, or that she would refuse to do it - and what then for Prompto? Worse still, she might ask some monstrous price, or she might kill the others on sight. Getting to Noct's wedding, and contending with the difficulties of being his best man, that was all a distant dream from where Prompto was sitting. His stomach churned with fresh anxiety, and he curled up in his seat as the others continued discussing his possible role in their lives. 

'My best man? Yeah, he could be. Looks a lot more cheerful than you two. I'd want someone who could make me laugh sometimes.' 

'I'm plenty funny,' said Gladio, with a huff. 

'Funny looking, maybe.' 

'Gentlemen, don't make me come back there,' said Ignis, with exaggerated concern. 'We've all made it this far without coming to blows, let's not ruin things now.' 

'Maybe that's what he did,' said Noct, after a few moments. 

'Hm?' Another glance in the rear view mirror. 

'Kept us sane.' 

Ignis smiled at that. 'Yes, perhaps. You are an insufferable pair.' His smile, reflected back at them in the mirror, told them that meant they were forgiven for the previous day's tiff, and that, their forgotten companion aside, all was well again.

'Right back atcha, Iggy,' said Noct, settling back in his seat for a nap. 

Ignis happened to look over then at Prompto, and smiled when he saw him there. 'Fear not. We're on our way.' 

Prompto nodded back at him, and Ignis's eyes returned to the road, brief exchange forgotten, but the course set.


	7. Chapter 7

They made camp on the haven at the edge of the forest.

The intent was not to rest that night, but instead to prepare a place to which they could fall back if things went awry. Prompto helped them, carrying bags and unrolling sleeping mats, securing tent poles as Gladio pulled over the canvas. They didn’t acknowledge him directly, of course, but all of this he knew was for him. They wouldn’t have come back here if they didn’t believe in him.

He had hoped to catch Ignis’s eye one last time before they made their way into the forest, but Ignis was preoccupied with planning their route, and their methods of bargaining with the Dreadwitche. Their intel on her was still pitiful, even with their prior encounter; she was as changeable as the wind, Dave had said to them before they left, and he hadn’t been wrong. She was a survivor, adaptable, tenacious. Ignis wasn’t even sure they’d be offered the opportunity to make their case.

He kept looking at the photos stored on Prompto’s camera, as if to remind himself that this madness had to be worth it, even if he didn’t fully understand why.

‘We ready?’ Gladio asked once they’d finished setting up, his eyes on Ignis. Noct followed his gaze, waiting for the answer from his most trusted advisor.

Ignis cleared his throat, considered one last time his notes, and then stood, nodding. ‘We’re ready. Well, as ready as we’ll ever be. I advise caution. We stay in each other’s sights at all times. We know now the forest is her, and she is the forest. We cannot trust even the trees. Stay close, be vigilant. That goes for you too, Prompto.’

Prompto started, but Ignis wasn’t looking at him. He was just assuming Prompto was there, somewhere. That strange unknown who now dogged their steps, who drove them back into the jaws of danger.

‘I’ll be here,’ he said, to no one.

The mood of the party was wholly different to the first time they’d broached the border of these trees. Last time they’d been quietly confident, in no doubt of their ability to prevail. They’d even laughed and joked with one another; Ignis had stopped them to harvest a particularly interesting patch of mushrooms. There had been no real sense of urgency, no fear. Prompto had taken a photo of a tree knot that looked like Gladio, if you squinted and turned your head. Gladio had taken a playful swing at him when he’d pointed it out.

Now, though, silence. Caution. As Ignis advised, they kept close together, in sight of one another – save Prompto, who kept close but remained out of sight – and they did not allow for distractions. The forest had grown still as they entered; no birds chattered in the trees, not even the hum of insects met their ears. She knew they were coming.

Ignis remarked as such, and Gladio immediately drew his greatsword, and the leaves around them rustled in an angry swarm at the sight of it.

‘Idiot!’ Ignis snapped, wheeling around with a rebuke so forceful Gladio nearly jumped, ‘put that away!’

Abashed, Gladio did as he was told. ‘Sorry,’ he grunted, glancing over at Noct, ‘just trying to do my job.’

The rustling leaves had stilled again. Prompto could feel his heart thundering in his chest. How much further? He couldn’t remember how deep they’d gone the first time. He didn’t think he’d need to commit it to memory. Returning suddenly seemed wholly foolish, but there was no way he could ward them off the venture now.

It was when they reached a small clearing that Clarus Amicitia appeared.

Rather than wearing his full Shield’s attire, he was dressed as Gladio had known him at home; a button up shirt, jeans, a watch with a thick black strap on his left wrist. They all stopped and started in surprise; the apparition had appeared suddenly and without fanfare. Apparition it had to be, because they all knew that Clarus Amicitia was dead.

Gladio did not take well to the spectre. ‘Get out of our way!’

“Clarus” regarded his son somberly. ‘Gladio, I expected better of you. Where is Iris? You left her by herself? She has no one left but you.’

‘Don’t bite,’ Noct warned Gladio as his Shield stepped forward, defiant.

‘I’m not falling for this. Get out of our way,’ Gladio repeated, his words a growl.

The apparition changed tack. ‘How sorely do you feel your loss, son? Not at all. He was just a boy you knew, once. Keep on this path and she’ll take me from you, too. Would you so readily forget your father?’

That gave Gladio pause. A direct threat, there was no other way to interpret it. Turn back, or lose more memories of loved ones. He took a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m no coward,’ he said, ‘I’m not turning back.’

A grave sadness came over Clarus’s face, but he nodded, and vanished – only from sight, and not from memory. Gladio exhaled with relief.

‘She’s trying to make us leave,’ said Noct, stating the obvious, but then further elaborating, ‘she’s scared that we’ve come back.’

‘I wouldn’t make any assumptions yet,’ said Ignis, ‘but it’s clear she’s not keen to speak to us.’

‘If she wants us gone, she’ll have to do better than that,’ said Gladio, jaw set defiantly.

They pressed on. Fell whispers began to stir in the undergrowth; soft, cruel laughter and creeping insecurities. Prompto moved closer to the others, trying to ignore the goading voices that told him how selfish he was for leading his friends to their deaths. He reached instinctively for Noct’s wrist, in search of some comfort, and his fingers slipped straight through the other man’s flesh.

The next clearing showed them Regis Lucis Caelum.

Noct stepped forward to meet him. ‘You aren’t my father,’ he said.

‘No,’ the specter admitted, ‘but I know his ways as well as you did. Let me convince you your path is folly, son.’

‘You can’t convince me of anything,’ said Noct, ‘everything you are is a lie.’

‘Noctis,’ the false Regis said, voice stern, ‘you have a duty to fulfil. The people of this country need you alive, and well. You must marry Lady Lunafreya. You must broker a peace with the Empire, no matter their previous treachery. You are the leader around which the people will rally. Don’t throw yourself away in these woods on the whispers of possibility. What is one boy you knew, to all the people of this world?’

‘I’m not dying here,’ Noct shook his head, ‘and I’m walking back out with three friends.’

Prompto realised there were tears running down his face. What was he, to Noct’s role as King? Not even a footnote in the margins of history. What was he doing, dragging the last Caelum out here to risk it all for a lost memory?

‘Noct,’ he croaked, but Noct didn’t turn around.

Regis sighed. ‘So be it.’ And he was gone.

Noct turned to the others, face pale. ‘Nothing like this happened the first time we came into these woods. Why is she doing this?’

‘One can hazard a guess or two,’ said Ignis, ‘but the only certainty is that she wants us to leave.’

‘Then it has to be worth going on,’ said Noct, and they all nodded in silent agreement, save Prompto, whose tears fell free on his cheeks.


	8. Chapter 8

Ignis’s vision was of Prompto.

They all saw it, of course, as they had all seen Regis and Clarus – but as the late King had so clearly been for Noct, and the late Shield for Gladio, so Prompto’s apparition was clearly meant for Ignis. He stepped forward into the third clearing to receive it, with all his usual dignity and grace – in fact, Prompto had never seen Ignis strike such an imposing figure as he did in that moment. 

‘Iggy, this isn’t right,’ said the fake Prompto, sounding just like the real thing, his tone plaintive, ‘you’re putting yourselves in way too much danger, just for me.’ He looked at them with imploring eyes, willing them to turn around and head home. 

Not five minutes ago, Prompto would have been willing to say the same, but now he heard the words aloud he realised how much the idea frightened him. He didn’t want them to abandon him here. He looked to Ignis, throat closed with fear.

‘We put ourselves in danger every day for strangers when we hunt,’ said Ignis coolly, ‘and this Prompto fellow – who I’m certain you are not – is no stranger to us.’ He stood his ground, stoic and unwavering. 

The expression on the apparition’s face hardened. ‘If he mattered so much, how could you let yourselves forget?’

‘That was your doing, I believe,’ said Ignis, unmoved, ‘ _Dreadwitche_.’

Uttering her name beneath the thick canopy of the forest caused a visceral reaction from the surrounding foliage. Branches quaked, leaves curled in on themselves, the soil shifted underfoot. Noct steadied himself against Gladio, while Ignis took a step back in order to regain his balance.

‘Get out,’ said not-Prompto, the expression on his face contorting into something unrecognizable, the whites of his eyes clouding over red, ‘get out of my forest, failed King and his lackeys. I can’t give you what you’re looking for. Get out and waste away your days until the endless night comes.’ The voice was a hideous mixture of Prompto’s and something much darker, a rasping, rattling sound that sounded perpetually short of breath.

‘What about me?’ said Prompto, the sound of his own voice – from his own throat, no less – surprising him even as he spoke. ‘What am I supposed to do?’

‘Fade,’ the specter spat, words venom, and Prompto was so surprised that it replied to him he barely comprehended what it had said. 

The others looked confused at the seemingly random outburst, until Ignis clicked. ‘She’s talking to Prompto,’ he said, a little breathless, ‘she can see him.’

‘Yes,’ nodded the specter – the Dreadwitche herself, puppeteering this mockery of Prompto’s skin – ‘yes, I can see him. He looks… like this. But frightened. As frightened as you all should be. I can do nothing for him. I can do nothing for you.’

Now the pretense was gone, Prompto found this false image of himself hard to look at. It stood all _wrong_ , his face looking like a mask stretched over the bones of something inhuman. He couldn’t be sure whether the Dreadwitche was literally underneath it, or if she was pulling the strings from further afield – but the image was hideous regardless. Instinctively, he stepped a little behind Ignis, who refused to be cowed.

‘Why did you curse him?’ Ignis asked, ‘why him, of the four of us? What did he do to incur your wrath while we walked away unscathed?’

Noct cleared his throat a little, and Ignis waved a dismissive hand at him, eyes fixed on the Dreadwitche.

A sickening grin. ‘He was the first one I laid my hands on. And you,’ she pointed an accusing finger at Ignis, ‘you’re the one who struck a blow on my head.’

‘We were wrong to attack you,’ Ignis replied diplomatically, ‘we know that now, and we’re sorry.’

‘Sorry? Pah! You regret your losses. Your gold, your friend, your memories. You care not for me.’ She fixed Ignis with an ugly look. ‘And I care not for you. Leave this place, go about your lives. Let the boy fade. There’s nowhere else for him now.’

‘What do you mean, fade?’ asked Ignis and Prompto in unison.

The Dreadwitche smirked with Prompto’s mouth. ‘You struck my head as I laid the curse. He should have been wholly erased from this plane, but you, you interrupted me. I do so hate being interrupted. He fled with you, unseen by your eyes, and you alone, spear-wielder, can catch a glimpse of him here and there, but no more. And as time goes, less and less.’

‘I’m fading away?’ Prompto asked, voice small, constricted with fear.

The Dreadwitche looked at him, and the others all followed her gaze, and in that moment, they all saw him and remembered him, and so the fear struck all their hearts as she nodded and said, ‘fading from this plane, into nothing. That was your curse, boy. It will play out in time.’ That smile again, with too many teeth. Prompto didn’t have that many teeth.

‘Undo it,’ Noct demanded, striding forward to place a hand on Prompto’s shoulder, and stumbling a little as his hand met nothing but empty air, Prompto’s form still incorporeal, ‘undo it, now! Pull him back!’

‘I cannot,’ said the Dreadwitche, hands raised in a shrug.

‘Cannot or will not?’ Noct challenged her, and where Ignis had been calm, he was fury, ‘if you can do this to him, you can take it back!’

‘Can you take back a prayer to the Astrals? Can you undo a wound? Can you say no to death, when it comes for you? The curse is wrought, the boy is gone. All you have done,’ the Dreadwitche addressed Ignis now, ‘is prolong his suffering.’

‘I’d hit you in the head every day until the stars went out if it kept him here,’ Ignis growled, following in Noct’s anger.

‘What a gentleman!’ she mocked, ‘and I thought you came here to beg favours. I will not tell you again. Leave. Leave, and let the boy fade.’

The vision of Prompto vanished. Silence filled the clearing where they all stood. 

‘I remember,’ said Ignis, after some minutes, his gaze on Prompto still unbroken, ‘catching you scaling the wall to Noct’s apartment window to avoid alerting me to your presence. I gave you such a fright you fell two stories.’

‘You spent the summer with your leg in a cast,’ Noct picked up the thread, ‘in my living room, playing video games.’

Prompto nodded. ‘That was a really great summer.’

‘I remember whenever I had to find Noct while he was goofing off, he’d always be at the arcade, with you,’ said Gladio. ‘First time we met, you were playing Kings Knight Coliseum. You turned white as a sheet when I showed up to haul him off. I think you thought I blamed you for his laziness.’

‘He is a very bad influence,’ Noct agreed, and they all laughed, just a little.

‘You bought me a watch for my birthday one year,’ said Ignis. ‘A rather fine one, I recall. Analogue, not digital, with a second face imposed on the first, so I would always know the time in Tenebrae.'

‘Got me the Folio edition of _Ars Arcanum_ ,’ said Gladio, with a nod of gratitude.

‘You got me the comic books you wanted to read,’ said Noct, tone accusatory, but smiling all the while.

Prompto gave him a guilty grin. ‘Yeah, well. You liked them too.’ He rubbed at his eyes a little.

Ignis tried to rest a hand on Prompto’s arm, and found like Noct that he could not touch the other man. ‘We won’t let her take you,’ he promised, solemnly. ‘We will find her, and we will find a way. There is always a way.’

‘Not to mention,’ Gladio added, ‘you owe me a heck of a lot of money.’

Again, laughter. Just enough of it to see them through.


	9. Chapter 9

Fading. He was fading.

Prompto looked down at his hands; they were still there to the eye, he could still touch and feel anything that wasn’t another person, but he knew in his heart that what the Dreadwitche had said was true. He was fading away.

The brief reprieve in the clearing from this long nightmare had ended too soon. Ignis had, with great sorrow on his face, turned away from Prompto to lead the charge deeper into the forest still, and with that they had all forgotten their declarations of remembering. They knew he was still there, in an abstract way, and knew they had to press on despite the Dreadwitche’s vow that there was nothing she could do, but once again Prompto was slipped from memory.

He was lost in his own thoughts anyway. A few cold facts were congealing in his mind; the fact he hadn’t eaten, or slept, since the curse was laid upon him, and did not feel any the worse for either of these things. As far as existing went, that didn’t bode well.

Ignis had stopped suddenly; Prompto walked right through him. They both shivered, only one knowing why.

‘Iggy?’ Gladio and Noct stopped too.

‘There’s something up ahead.’

Prompto, who was now ahead of Ignis by virtue of having just walked through him, saw it too. A great shadow moved in the trees ahead, slipping through them without causing so much as a stir in the undergrowth. It was approaching them, and at speed.

By instinct, they all drew their weapons; this time the forest did not respond in anger, but with silence. Even the leaves, it seemed, were cowed by the presence now descending upon them.

‘It isn’t the Dreadwitche,’ said Ignis softly, ‘we would be dead where we stand.’

‘Then what?’ said Noct, moments before the shadow suddenly tapered and shrunk down before them, and from between the branches came a very familiar face.

‘Umbra!’ Noct almost laughed with relief, and they all shed their weapons as he bent down to greet his old friend. The dog gave a soft bark in greeting, accepting a generous petting of his ears and snout before stepping back again, looking up at Noct with intent. He held no letter from Lady Luna. He was here on other business.

‘You here to lead the way, boy? Take us to her den?’

Another bark, and enthusiastic wagging of the tail.

They had not, on their first outing, ever found the Dreadwitche’s real lair. She had met them amongst the trees, her natural allies, headed them off early. It hadn’t seemed to matter at the time, not even when they learned how sorely outmatched they were. Now, Umbra led the way, and they followed after.

The lair was indicated, rather than deliberately signposted, by wooden talismans hanging from branches, and a strange scent that made Prompto feel sick, despite not having eaten. The trees here were changed, too; they bent oddly, sometimes impossibly, forming what amounted to a wooden cave from which drifted odd, quavering notes that sounded something like the call of a toad.

‘Cosy,’ said Gladio. ‘Think she’s into Feng Shui?’

At the edge of the wood-cave’s entrance, Umbra halted, lowering his tail. He leant inward, sniffing, paced up and down the threshold of the lair, pawing and whining a little. Then, with a sudden snarl, he leapt forward and grabbed between his teeth what looked like a benign root; he pulled it, and there was a high-pitched screech, and the root came away from the earth, dripping blood from where it had torn. Umbra dropped it with clear disgust to the ground, licking at the earth to rid his mouth of the taste, before looking back to the others with a jerk of the head to indicate they were to follow him onward.

‘Good boy, Umbra,’ said Noct, and the dog huffed as if to say, well of course, now hurry up.

‘A cave made of trees,’ said Ignis, impressed, in awe, ‘how remarkable.’

‘We can admire the architecture once this is done,’ said Gladio, and Ignis nodded in agreement. They each switched on their torches, and went in.

The wood-cave was deeper than they expected. The floor tilted in odd directions, disorienting, paths diverging in myriad directions; fear gnawed at Prompto’s belly as he realized that without Umbra, they would have gotten lost in this place. No breadcrumb trail or ball of string would have survived the smothering presence here, and he waited for the walls to simply close in and crush them, or for the floor to open into a death drop. But the walls remained as they were, and the floor did not give way. Every so often, Umbra would stop, investigate the earth with his snout, and pull up another of those foul bloodroots.

After what felt like many hours, Umbra slowed his pace as they approached what had to be the final chamber. The trees here were petrified, grey and black with green of lichen, water beading and dripping down from the ceiling. The air was thick and muggy, stiflingly warm, bringing them all out in a sweat that failed to cool them. Around them, a steady thrum, like the beating of the wood-cave’s heart.

‘This is it,’ said Noct. ‘Last chance to turn around.’

‘Not likely,’ said Gladio.

‘Absolutely not,’ said Ignis, with a vehemence that made Prompto smile in spite of himself.

‘All right then,’ said Noct. ‘For Prompto.’

‘For Prompto,’ the others agreed in unison.

‘For Prompto,’ said Prompto under his breath, and they entered the Dreadwitche’s chambers.

* * *

It was almost anticlimactic. She did not spring at them in a frenzied rage or lay them low at once with some magic or other. There was no bubbling cauldron, no strange herbs hanging from the ceiling or bones strewing the floor. The room was austere. A cot in the corner, a small shelf filled with books that had no titles on the spines. Light came from a single sconce, its source indiscernible – the only sign of magic in the place, save the formation of the structure itself. The witch sat in a chair by her shelf, watching them.

It was hard to understand what she looked like. She seemed to shift, ugly one minute, amiable the next; her features swam oddly, making it impossible to put down if she had blue eyes or brown, if her nose was straight or crooked, if her lips were set in a line or pulled down in a grimace. Her hair was long, that much Prompto could say for certain; long, unwashed but brushed neatly, falling free around her shoulders.

‘So you came,’ the Dreadwitche sighed. ‘I told you I could not help you, and you came.’

‘We need you to try,’ said Ignis, once Noct had nodded at him to take the lead in this strange negotiation, and the Dreadwitche laughed softly at that.

‘Your audacity… it leaves me incredulous. Know I have not struck you down, boy-King and his sycophants, because to do so would be to consign this sorry world to a fate some of us do not deserve. Consider yourself lucky, world-changer and his friends.’

‘You called me a failed King earlier,’ said Noct, struggling to keep confrontation from his voice, ‘and you talked about an endless night.’

‘I’m not here to make apologies or read your palms,’ said the Dreadwitche haughtily. ‘An endless night is coming, that much I know. You all have a part to play. Save dear Prompto, who forfeited his place in your history when he conspired with the rest of you to have me killed for coin.’

‘We thought you were a daemon,’ said Ignis, ‘we thought you were a threat to the people of Lucis. We were misinformed.’

‘Do you often kill, on the basis of misinformation?’

Ignis looked a little abashed. ‘You have hurt people,’ he said, ‘you have taken control of great swathes of forest, making them uninhabitable for others. You’re not without fault!’

‘But I do not deserve death!’ the Dreadwitche snapped, ‘not least at the hands of children like yourselves!’

Ignis paused. ‘No,’ he agreed, ‘no, you didn’t deserve that. But you are hardly easy to approach. You must understand why people fear you? Why they try to drive you away? When cursing them in their attempts makes it worse for you?’

She snorted dismissively. ‘I live as I choose. I have my reasons. All I wanted was for no one to bother me. Perhaps I should put a sign on the door. No cold callers, no salesmen, no boy-Kings and their dwindling cohort.’ She shifted in her chair, and then stood. She was not particularly tall, perhaps a head shorter than Prompto, who started as she moved toward him.

‘Prompto Argentum,’ she said, ‘you are caught in between. Time will whittle you away to nothing. You know this, I have told you this. Why do your friends insist on bothering me?’

The others were looking at him too now, her gaze leading them; something strange happened in the air and they all felt it in their gut, a tugging somewhere around the navel, as the Dreadwitche, by some silent spell, pulled them all through to that in between, the five of them – six, if you counted Umbra – now sharing a plane.

Prompto looked over at them, eyes wide, before looking back to the Dreadwitche. ‘Because they’re my friends,’ he answered feebly.

She clicked her tongue. ‘Yes, the bonds you share are strong. Stronger than I am accustomed to seeing. I suppose you have little left but one another.’ She turned her gaze to Noct. ‘I was… disheartened, to hear what became of Insomnia.’

Noct swallowed, and nodded. The Dreadwitche returned her attentions to Prompto.

‘I am willing,’ she said at length, ‘to offer you a compromise.’

‘A compromise?’ Prompto dared let himself feel hope.

‘If you will leave me _alone_ ,’ she said, emphasizing the last word, ‘and put it about that I am not to be disturbed, then perhaps we can tether you, in a fashion, to the world of the living.’

‘Tether me?’

She nodded. ‘I cannot return you to your original state,’ she said, and there was no apology in her voice, not a hint of regret, ‘but I can stop you from fading away entirely.’

‘That is nowhere near enough,’ said Ignis at once. ‘We want him returned to us, whole!’

‘This is the nature of compromise,’ said the Dreadwitche. ‘He need not be alone.’ Her eyes fell to the other three now. ‘One of you must join him, and be his tether to the world. One of you must choose to slip between the folds of reality, and be forgotten too.’


	10. Chapter 10

The argument had been raging for what felt like hours. Prompto had said little, too used now to not being heard. Ignis, for all his training, for all his wiles and wit, could not find any way to bargain or broker a further deal with the Dreadwitche. This was, she insisted, the very most she could do for them, in exchange for Noct decreeing that her forest be left undisturbed by men. That Noct would not be in a position to perform such an act for a considerable period, she pointed out, made her offer practically generous.

‘Generous!’ Ignis spat derisively, angrier than Prompto had ever seen him, ‘your offer is laughable.’

‘Then leave,’ the Dreadwitche shrugged, turning away from him, ‘it makes no difference to me.’

Prompto sat down on the packed earth floor of the wood-cave. He could not, in good conscience, ask any of them to do this for him. Even if Lucis didn’t need Noct, even if Noct didn’t need Ignis and Gladio, he still wouldn’t want them to do it. However, no one so far had asked him what he thought, and he felt too exhausted to raise his voice to be heard. He felt thin, stretched too far for too long. He felt the need to be elsewhere; an elsewhere he’d not be aware of before. Fading. That was what fading felt like.

‘It would be two of us just… just wandering. We couldn’t do anything,’ Gladio shook his head, ‘it’s no solution. Not like this.’

Noct was considering the wall with great concentration. Ignis demanded to know if he was even listening. Ignis was ignored. Used to this, he turned at last to Prompto.

‘Prompto. Prompto, what do you want? Would you… would you want one of us to do this?’

Prompto looked up at Ignis, a little dazed, not expecting the question. ‘You can’t,’ he said, ‘Noct needs you both with him, and he can’t just _vanish_. The world would fall apart. It’s not like me being gone makes any real difference.’

‘But what do you _want?_ ’ Ignis pressed, ignoring the self deprecating remark.

Prompto rested his chin on his knees. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. Only what I don’t want. I don’t want to be gone. I don’t want to be stuck. I don’t want to be the reason one of you guys has to be stuck too. I wish none of this had happened.’

‘Unfortunately, this witch doesn’t grant wishes,’ said Ignis, glaring over at her, and she haughtily ignored him. ‘And I fear we are exhausting our welcome here.’

Noct, who had until now been silent, turned to the others. ‘Could you guys step outside for a minute?’

Ignis balked. ‘I think not.’

‘And leave you alone with her? Definitely not,’ said a Gladio, crossing his arms.

Noct glowered up at them both, with such a vehement expression that Ignis winced a little. ‘I’m not asking. I’m ordering. All three of you, _out_.’

‘Does the boy-king wish to speak alone?’ asked the Dreadwitche in a mocking voice.

‘Yeah,’ said Noct, ‘he does. Prompto, you too, I said all three. Get out.’

Unceremoniously ejected from the central chamber of the Dreadwitche’s wood-cave, Ignis, Gladio and Prompto waited in the dim corridor outside, where Umbra was sitting, waiting for their return. The small dog made a soft growling sound upon realising that Noct had remained behind, and Prompto tried to pet him reassuringly. His hand fell straight through Umbria’s dark fur.

‘We can still see you,’ said Gladio, ‘guess she’s working something to keep us all on the same plane still. If that’s how it works.’

Ignis pushed his glasses up his nose, displeased at being separated from Noct for any length of time. ‘I imagine we’ll never be granted a full understanding of how this works. It’s to her advantage that we don’t understand the precise nature of the thing.’

‘We tried to kill her,’ said Gladio, ‘can’t exactly blame a witch for retaliating, I guess.’

‘Wonder what Noct’s saying to her,’ said Prompto gloomily.

‘I do wish he’d consulted with me beforehand,’ said Ignis, ‘told me what he was up to. To bargain with her alone! To order us out here, like hand servants. We all have the right to hear what he’s proposing. Foolish boy.’

‘That’s boy-king to you,’ said Gladio, but nobody laughed.

There was nothing to pass the time but the steady drip of water down the wood-cave’s walls. Ignis paced, Gladio crossed and uncrossed his arms, Prompto remained on the floor. Umbra yawned, and lay down to sleep. He stirred moments before Noct appeared, looking perhaps a little pale but none the worse for wear.

‘Noct!’ Ignis darted toward at the sight of him, clearly itching to make sure he was unharmed. ‘What happened? What did you say?’

Noct said nothing, instead walking over and offering a Prompto a hand up. Prompto started at it dully for a few seconds. ‘Noct, I can’t…’

‘Take it,’ said Noct, and his voice was so cold and angry that Prompto was compelled to obey. He reached up and took ahold of Noct’s hand, and was amazed to feel his fingers close around the other man’s. Noct hauled him to his feet. Prompto swayed a little as he stood up.

‘Noct,’ said Ignis, alarmed, ‘Noct, what did you do? What did you give her?’

Noct was clenching his jaw, nodding to himself, satisfied at least that Prompto was corporeal. He turned to Ignis. ‘You’re first.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Ignis.

‘You stay with him first. One year. Then Gladio. Another year. You take it in turns. You’ll know to come back to her to change places, when it’s time.’

All three of them stared at him.

‘I made the call,’ said Noct, half shrugging. ‘I made a deal.’

‘You don’t get to do this!’ Gladio started to raise his voice, but Noct held up a hand. He looked almost kingly in the half light, his face set with grim determination. It quieted the Shield. Ignis was regarding Noct with a mixture of disappointment and quiet anger, but he said nothing.

‘In ten years,’ he continued, ‘I’ll take the throne. We’ll return to the Citadel, and rebuild Insomnia. Until then, I need the two of you to take turns, to stay with him, keep him here. Keep him alive. Will you do that for me?’

Gladio and Ignis looked at one another. This arrangement would mean they’d never again know each other; one would always be lost to memory along with Prompto. Their friendship would be a one-way arrangement, for whichever of them it was slipped between the planes. That Noct had decided on their behalf, that he would order them to go to such lengths… they would, of course, obey, but through duty alone. There was no willingness from either of them to go through with this.

‘What did you give her in exchange?’ Ignis asked, not yet answering the question put to him and Gladio. ‘In exchange for performing the act of moving us back and forth like this? What does this cost you, Noctis?’

The words were heavy on Noct’s tongue, and barely felt real even as he said them. He looked away from the others as he spoke. ‘Come my coronation, she takes the throne with me. Morag the Dreadwitche will be my Queen.’


	11. Chapter 11

The view from Prompto’s window spoke of promise and renewal. The streets of Insomnia were being cleared of rubble, its buildings restored, shops reopened. There were years of work ahead, of course, and the population was still barely enough to fill a single neighbourhood, let alone the entire city, but they’d only been back a year. Noct had only been King for a year.

Prompto gripped the edge of the sill, knuckles white as the paint that flaked off of it. He missed Noct more than he ever thought possible, more than he had during Noct’s ten-year absence in the crystal. At least then everyone else missed him too. When Noct returned, Morag had even temporarily moved Gladio – who was then the one helping tether Prompto to the world – back into the physical plane, so for a brief moment three of them were united at once. Prompto had watched as Ignis, Noct and Gladio had embraced with cries of joy, their brotherhood briefly remembered, but still only in part.

In the time it took the three of them to reunite, Prompto had almost wavered entirely from existence. Morag had shifted Gladio back in between the planes, and then it had just been Ignis and Noct. It felt like being a piece on a board, obeying a contrived set of rules. Prompto hated Morag as much as he needed her to stay in his half-a-life.

He turned at the sound of a throat being cleared behind him. Ignis was waiting, impatient. This arrangement had worn greatly on all of them. He wasn’t so sure they stayed with him out of anything other than duty; words exchanged were few, and terse. While Ignis was forgotten, he spent his time writing, and Gladio spent it reading. It was difficult to make conversation with the same person for an entire year, with no alternative. 

‘It’s time?’ said Prompto, voice a little hoarse.

A slight inclination of the head. ‘The hour draws near.’

‘Thanks. For the year.’

A shrug. ‘I’m hoping she will suggest an alternate arrangement soon. It will be best for all of us.’

She. Morag, the Dreadwitche. Morag, Queen of Insomnia. Prompto had to wonder how much she’d known; if she’d known Luna would die, or that Noct would need to as well. Of course, being offered a throne, she’d been able to bring _him_ back. Prompto tried not to feel bitter about that. She could resurrect the dead no problem, but the half-dead? Apparently not.

He still couldn’t work her out, even after all these years. He’d only really seen her annually, on the day when Ignis and Gladio would swap places. They didn’t talk much. He didn’t understand why she’d want to live in the middle of a city. She’d been adamant, until the offer had been made, that she wanted to be left alone in her forest, in that cave formed of bent tree trunks. But she’d leapt at the opportunity to come here. Why? He didn’t like it.

But then he didn’t like any of this.

He realised he hadn’t answered Ignis. ‘Yeah. Yeah, hopefully, now Noct’s back, and the city... yeah.’

There was a click, and the door opened. This flat, hidden away in an empty corner of the Citadel, was ignored for most of the year. It had been servants quarters at some point, maybe. Or boarding for staff. Prompto didn’t know if the Citadel had had staff or servants. It was never something he’d thought about. He’d had far too much time for thinking lately.

Through the door came Noct, Gladio, Morag. Her visage was more fixed these days; she had an arresting presence, a commanding gaze. Noct, who could not remember why he had promised to marry her, only that it was very important that he did, seemed to avoid looking at her directly. Guilt twisted Prompto’s insides. This wasn’t what he’d wanted for his friend. He was alarmed, too, to see the swell of Morag’s belly. An heir, then.

‘Why are we in this dump?’ Gladio groused, looking around. ‘I didn’t know we had people in here.’

Morag pursed her lips and gave him a cold look. ‘We’re here so I can fulfil my end of the King’s bargain.’

‘My bargain?’ Noct looked at her sharply. ‘It’s something to do with this place?’

It was clear Morag had long grown bored of the novelty of Noct not being able to remember why he’d made the bargain, or who he’d made it for. Ignis and Noct had left the forest that day disoriented, without any recollection of what had happened between the trees, or of Gladio or Prompto. Ignis had been brought back the following year by a strange aching in the chest that called him back into Morag’s cave, where Gladio and Prompto met him, and Ignis and Gladio changed places. So it had been once a year, every year, until now.

‘There is a man here you have forgotten,’ said Morag, her tone indicating just how dull she found these proceedings, ‘and who has been forgotten by all. Now the city is on the mend, I think it is safe that you reunite with him, if only briefly.’

Noct’s expression was impassive. He looked so much older. So tired. Prompto wanted to reach out to him, but that instinct had long died away. He couldn’t reach out to anyone.

There was a strange fluttering in the air, a shifting of time and space, and Noct looked at Prompto for the first time in over ten years.

‘Ignis?’ was the first thing Noct said, spotting first of all his loyal advisor at Prompto’s side, drawn to him by fresher memories. Then he looked to Prompto. ‘... oh, Prompto. Oh Astrals.’ He brought a hand to his mouth, both hands to his mouth, eyes wide, as it all came back.

‘I’ll be damned,’ said Gladio in a low voice. ‘Iggy. Prompto.’

‘Think I’m the damned one, technically,’ said Prompto, trying to make his voice sound light and airy. He just sounded bitter.

Noct rushed forward to hug him, and by grace of Morag’s magic, as back in the wood-cave all those years ago, he was able to. Prompto tensed up with surprise, and then held his best friend tight. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the shoulder of Noct’s royal robes. 

‘Thank you,’ said Noct, not to Prompto now but to Ignis and Gladio, ‘thank you, both of you. For. For keeping him here. I know that... I shouldn’t have asked it of you.’

‘You shouldn’t,’ said Ignis, ‘but you did, and so we obeyed.’ The strain in his voice was clear.

‘I’d do it again,’ said Gladio gruffly, and Ignis, after a pause, nodded with resign. They’d do anything for Noct.

‘It’s good to see you again,’ said Prompto, trying not to let tears muffle his voice. ‘You did so good out there.’

Noct swallowed hard, stepping back a little, but keeping a hand on Prompto’s shoulder, gripping tight, not wanting to let go. He turned to Morag. ‘We’re home now. The dawn has been brought back. It’s been-’

‘Ten years,’ said Morag coldly, ‘has changed nothing of this. You cannot remain here for long. Your people have forgotten you, and your second in command-’ she nodded here at Ignis and Gladio respectively - ‘and confusion will follow. You must be king. You cannot be here with him.’

‘She’s right,’ said Ignis, though he seemed loth to agree, ‘this is no place for you, Noct. Gladio and I, we could manage, a year each at a time, but you? Nothing has changed the fact that Insomnia needs you.’

‘Insomnia needs all of us!’ said Noct, shaking his head, ‘I need you all at my side. Working just one at a time, there’s always something missing. We can feel it.’

Gladio made a sound of agreement. ‘When you’re in memory, you know something’s wrong. I could never place it. No Ignis, no Prompto, just me and Noct? There’s no balance. It’s not right.’

‘Agreed,’ said Ignis, ‘but this has never been right.’ He looked to Prompto, expression sorrowful. It was the most Prompto had seen him emote toward him in half a decade. ‘But I... I had hoped...’

‘The conditions laid out were clear,’ said Morag.

‘The situation has changed! Noct is King, he has the King’s powers, perhaps now-’

‘Would you accuse me of lying? Do you think I shift you and your friend back and forth between planes for my health? It takes a toll!’

‘A _toll_? You intolerable-’

‘Stop!’ said Prompto, loud enough to quiet them all, though the animosity was borne on the air and hung between them, ‘all of you. Stop. Enough. I’ve had enough.’

‘Sorry,’ said Noct, and the others all followed suit, save Morag, who apologized for no man. 

‘I mean it,’ said Prompto, resolute, no matter how small his voice. ‘I mean, I’ve had _enough_. I’m sick of it. Of being only half here. Of pulling you guys out of reality, for nothing. I’m just... hanging around. You should be able to get on with your lives.’ He paused. ‘To move on.’

It had been rehearsed, of course. He’d run this speech through a dozen times over in his head. But it all came out in such a tumble, it sounded weak, even to his own ears.

‘You can’t mean that,’ said Noct. ‘Prompto, you can’t. Not after everything we’ve done to keep you here!’

‘It’s not a life, Noct. I know you did your best, but it’s not enough. I’m sorry,’ this he addressed to Ignis and Gladio, who looked aggrieved at their respective sacrifices being deemed insufficient, after so much time. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s time to...’

‘To forget you?’ said Noct, and the words were hollow on his tongue. ‘To let you fade away? To give up?’

‘To led a Dreadwitche be our Queen?’ said Ignis, nose wrinkled, earning himself a look of reproach from said Queen.

‘I can’t taste anything, you know that?’ said Prompto. ‘I can’t _smell_ anything, either. I can’t sleep. I can’t hold a book, or a pen. All I can do is watch, watch everyone else go about their lives. I should have been here with you, I know that, but I’m not. And you two shouldn’t have to deal with that too, you shouldn’t have to do that for me. So, so I’m asking you to end it.’

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. That part hadn’t been rehearsed, and it had come out ugly, a truth no one wanted to hear.

Noct ran a hand through his silvery hair, and looked at Gladio and Ignis. ‘Well. Well. What do you think?’

‘I think I’m sick of living half a life every other year,’ said Gladio, ‘and I think living like that all the time would be Hell.’

‘I’m inclined to agree,’ said Ignis, looking with great interest at his own shoes.

Noct turned to the Dreadwitche. ‘And there’s no way? You swear to me, you tell me the truth, there really is no other way you can do this? There’s nothing, not even the most unlikely, the most farfetched solution you can possibly think of?’

Morag met his gaze, unflinching. ‘There is nothing.’

More silence. Colder. Prompto could feel himself trembling.

‘Noct. Please.’ Prompto could hear himself begging.

Noct looked upon his best friend for what would be the last time. ‘We... made it pretty far, I guess.’

‘Pretty far,’ Prompto agreed. ‘And, hey. You’re gonna make a great King.’

* * *

Three men, and a Dreadwitche, left the room.

Behind them, there was a fluttering, a shifting of spaces. The sound of a breath, exhaled, with relief.


End file.
